


37 Years

by Lif61 (UltimateFandomTrash)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Humor, POV Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester's Birthday, Team Free Will 2.0
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23971837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UltimateFandomTrash/pseuds/Lif61
Summary: Sam can't understand why Dean's being weird until he accidently sleeps through his surprise.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	37 Years

**Author's Note:**

> Happy 37 years to the owner of the best bitch face on the planet! God wishes he was as great as Sam Fucking Winchester.

“Hey, you know what day it is?” Dean asked.

Sam glanced up from his book about alternate ways to kill ghouls. He was at the kitchen table, a soggy, forgotten bowl of cereal in front of him. He was at least thankful he’d finished his coffee before he could’ve forgotten about it. Dean was rifling through the fridge.

“Uh... what?” Sam asked, still largely thinking about the book and how it had been speculating that some type of silver alloy might also be able to do the trick instead of just decapitation.

“It’s Saturday,” Dean told him, taking a jug of orange juice out. He popped the tab, and then drank straight from the carton. Sam raised his eyebrows at him while making a disgusted face.

“Okay, and?”

Dean put the orange juice back, and closed the door, walking over. He leaned against the counter, and threw up the “rock on” hand gesture, leaving Sam with more questions than answers. His response didn’t help, “It’s Radical Saturday.”

Sam laughed at him. “I don’t know what that is.”

Dean shrugged, looking embarrassed, “I don’t know. I saw it on the internet. It was stupid, anyway.”

“Uh huh.”

Sam went back to reading.

Dean cleared his throat, and he hadn’t budged. Sam rolled his eyes at him and shot him a face that probably said _fuck you_ in about fifty different languages, one of them being _My Brother Is Annoying_.

“Don’t give me that face.”

“What face?”

“ _What face?_ ” Dean mocked. “You know what face. The bitch face!”

Sam narrowed his eyes more, turned up his smile just a bit. “Oh, you mean this face?”

“Yes, that face!” The two shared adoring grins. “Anyway, I was thinking--”

“Hope you didn’t pull a muscle.”

“Ha-ha. Now would you let me finish?”

Sam went through his catalogue of bitch faces and shot him never-before-used bitch face number four-hundred-and-thirty-seven.

“Cute.”

Sam smirked.

“So _anyway_ , since it’s Saturday, instead of pie tonight, I thought we’d do cake. It’s on me.”

A smirk played on Sam’s lips, and he couldn’t resist the urge to tease, “What, you and your whole forty-five dollars you hustled off that guy at the bar last night?”

Dean put his hands out, seeming excited. “Yeah!”

“If you want to get cake -- whatever, that’s your call.”

Dean grabbed a half-empty beer bottle from the counter that had been out there since the night before, and sauntered off.

“You’re no fun, man,” he complained.

Sam twisted back, watching curiously as Dean tried the beer. Sam shook his head, rolling his eyes affectionately this time as Dean started spluttering and gagging.

“Idiot,” Sam muttered. “Love ya.”

Dinner was uneventful, even with both Castiel and Jack in attendance. Sam hadn’t slept well the night before, so he mentioned he’d go to bed early. That was _almost_ what he did. Instead he stayed up doing a little pleasure-reading, and he fell asleep with his book open on his chest, and the lamp next to his bed on.

As usual, Sam was the first to wake up the next day. He didn’t bother getting dressed before heading out to the kitchen, and when he got there, he stopped, staring at the table in surprise.

The cake Dean had gotten yesterday was on it, covered in a plastic container. And when Sam went over he could clearly read the words, _HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SAMMY_. A notecard rested by the cake.

Yawning, and only half-alarmed that he’d forgotten about his own birthday the day before, Sam picked up the notecard, and read the words written in red pen by Dean, _Meant to share this with you last night. But birthday cake’s still good for breakfast the next day. Don’t sleep through the next one. Anyway, Happy Birthday to the most pain in the ass little brother in the world. You teach me to be a better person._

Sam gave an easy smile at the words, even as they sank deep, and he pulled the cake over to him.

“Thanks, Dean.”


End file.
